Baby, The Stars Shine Bright
by Ash Gray Kitsune
Summary: He's known about her all her life, and in her own way, she's known about him...but Papa is a title the archer isn't sure if he's worthy of taking up, not with his history. Emma's determined to prove him wrong. Past ClintxOC, past ClintxNatasha so far, further pairings in the future chapters. Warnings of triggers inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel, but all OC's are mine. I also don't own the lolita brand from which I took the name of the story from.**

**A/N: There is extensive discussion of child abuse, post-traumatic stress disorder, and grieving; please, if any of these trigger you, I urge that you do not read this story. However, if you love Clint with small children, and learning to be a dad, this is a good fic to start with! :3**

**Baby, The Stars Shine Bright**

The song of a drawn bowstring was enough, really. He released a breath, eyes fluttering for just a moment as he took aim, gray-blue eyes locking on the target almost a football field away. There was peace in that one movement, the power of his own flesh and blood drawing that lone string back, arrow nocked and balanced, perfectly pinched between thumb and forefingers, a grace of a fallen god...

"Barton." His grip never faltered, but Clint's lips twitched up, smirking as he glanced over at a solemn Coulson...far more solemn than normal. He relaxed the string and stood straight up, setting his bow in its case as he did so, the arrow returning to the quiver.

"What's wrong?" Coulson sighed, rubbing his cheek absently as he did so, handing over a slim file.

"Something that I'd hoped would never come to light...especially for you, Clint." His eyes narrowed, and the archer scooped up the file, eyes flickering over the neat report, slowly widening as his jaw dropped. The obituary was clear, concise, and upsettingly vague as to the causes of death...and there was the trooper's report of the crash, the utter destruction by semi-truck...He swallowed, painfully, and turned to the last page, and was confronted by a pair of soft blue eyes and long, brown-blonde hair...a little girl, but not just any little girl. The little girl he'd been sent pictures of for the last five years, from the time she was in utero to her last birthday, by the woman he'd accepted a long time ago that was far too good for him, but had loved him nonetheless.

"It...it can't be..."

"It is."

"...The funeral?"

"Two days from now. Her lawyer was kind enough to extend an invitation to us both, but I think you ought to be the one to go."

"...and her daughter?" Phil's eyes dropped to the floor, and Clint waited, a hair's breadth away from panicking.

"...She'll be remanded to her grandparents' custody until such time as another relative accepts her guardianship. Or, her biological father chooses to exert his rights." He swallowed again, staggering back to fall into one of the chairs, quiver clanking on the metal frame.

"Phil, you know I can't do that. You know why."

"...Take a look at this, and tell me that again." He handed over another file, this one so much thicker, and for a long moment, Clint did not open it. It was a child services file...one that did not bode well. With a huff of a sigh, he opened it...and felt his heart plummet. Broken arm at the age of one, bruises over her abdomen from a visit at two, cigarette burns at three...and a fall that was _not_ an accident at four. From then on, she was kept from her grandparents, safe...until now.

"Abuse records."

"Yes. From her grandfather...but the worst ones are from the grandmother. Her mother kept her away from them until her death; right now, she's staying with the lawyer and his wife, but after the funeral, her guardians become them..."

"Why? Why are they allowed, after what they've done?!"

"...because those are not state records." Clint took a second look, eyes snapping to the simple logo...and he took a shaky breath.

"These are SHIELD."

"Precisely. Ever since her birth, we've been watching...for her sake, and yours."

"...Did Nina know?" Phil gave him a faint smile at that.

"You know she did. But she always called me when this happened, not the police; the police asked questions, I just did paperwork."

"...you kept us all safe."

"It was the least I could do...but it wasn't enough, Clint. And now...I can't keep her safe...only you can. You know that." He rubbed his face, glancing over the photos of her abuses...and sighed, worn to the bone.

"Alright. Alright. Rochester, still?"

"Mmhmm, the old farm she bought after her stint in the circus. She always loved you, you know." Clint nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes closing. She came up in his memory from nearly six years before, red hair down to her knees from years in an Amish home, eyes the softest shade of blue...and a sweet smile that had earned her a solid place in the circus...and in a young Bullseye's heart. She loved the showmanship, the horses she rode night after night...the bright lights and beautiful costumes and all the world at her feet. And him...she had certainly loved him.

After all, she'd born his little girl.

"...Yeah. And I still loved her. I just...didn't want her to be hurt. To be used..."

"And she loved you all the more for it."

"I'll leave tonight."

"That would be wise. I'll inform the Avengers, and deal with the paperwork." Clint nodded, finally standing up...and held out a hand to shake Coulson's.

"Thank you...I...probably ought to get an apartment..."

"Just move her into the Tower. It'll be safer, and let's be honest, a child would help most of them."

"...This will end so badly."

* * *

The drive to Rochester was a good three hours of silence, his usual preference of old rock shadowed by the events of the day, and Clint rubbed his stubble, wondering if the suit he had so neatly laid out in the back was going to be good enough for a funeral of a prominent horse trainer and her celebrated, businessman husband...for the little girl in the pretty red Christmas dress in the worn album in his bedroom's drawer. _My daughter...my little girl...My Emma. _He watched her life like any good sniper could; from afar, from photos, from letters, long and beautifully written, and so much better than his pigeon-scratching. Clint caressed the edge of a photo, tucked into the edge of the dashboard, from the last letter he'd received from Nina, just two weeks before her passing.

It was her and Emma, both in pretty spring dresses and sunhats, grinning up at the photographer, and he wished, not for the first time, that he'd been there...that Clint Barton, archer, wasn't the same as Clint Barton, the sniper. Wished that he'd been able to see his child's smile every morning, and kiss her cheek every night. But someone had to take the shots that mattered, and if Clint was honest with himself...he couldn't leave it to anyone else. And Nina Sloane had been the one to remind him of that, so long ago, just before the army years...And why he'd gone to SHIELD. Why Phil had ensured her's, and their daughter's safety...and why he was driving up to Nina's home now, a slim suitcase and a suit all he packed, a trailer waiting for him up at the rental place to pack the child's things on when he returned.

And thinking about moving her into his apartment turned to the other Avengers...and how they'd react. Phil was, obviously, all for it; he smiled a little at the thought of the agent almost excited for a child to take care of. Steve would be welcoming, and probably make her feel right at home; he loved kids, loved playing with them, loved taking care of them. Thor, too, would cherish her, making sure that she'd be happy. Bruce probably wouldn't come out at first, until she fell playing and scuffed up a knee, and then he'd be there, lollipop and bandages out, and the warmest bedside manner in the world. Tony wouldn't be all that interested at first, but toys would start appearing, and she would have the coolest bike and be spoiled absolutely rotten...And then there was Natasha. He winced, just a little, and pushed her reaction out of his mind, focusing on driving.

Three hours of nothingness and a stop at a local gas station later, and he pulled into the funeral home's parking lot, finally getting a spot over on the grass next to the building. He stepped out and brushed back his spiky hair, straightening his suit jacket as he started towards the parlor, ignoring the curious looks from the other mourners...when a flash of soft blue in the corner of his eye made Clint turn, glancing out over the cemetery. A tiny little girl, clutching a well-worn bunny rabbit in her arms, was staring at the green pavilion where Nina and Jason were to be laid to rest, and Clint's heart sank, his eyes catching every detail of her almost unconsciously. Emma was smaller than most five-year-olds, her dress just a little too big, but her mary-janes were worn and scuffed, and a little too small. Her hair was plaited, but greasy, and there were snags in the tights she was wearing...and as she turned, head bowed to the winds gusting around the whole complex, he saw the deep shadows under her eyes.

Lost weight, growth spurt, clothing that wasn't hers, hadn't had a decent bath in at least three days, dressing herself, not sleeping...He swallowed, watching as a tall man with light brown hair and soft eyes walked up to her, talking gently. She took his hand and as they walked back up to the parlor, Clint followed, his hand slipping into his pocket to tap out a message to Coulson before flipping his phone to silent. _Probably gonna need a child therapist, set one up for me?_ He wouldn't have to look at the response to know that Phil would do so; the man had a soft spot for kids, if his spoiling of his nephews and nieces was anything to go by. And she would need that...He slipped in the door, murmuring a soft condolence to the clustered family ignoring his daughter, and set his sights on following her once more, slipping through the crowd like a ghost. He wrote an alias down in the guestbook and took a seat at the back, right behind the lawyer and his wife, and opened his pamphlet, scanning it for any real information that hadn't been in the SHIELD file.

Nothing new, though he disliked the absence of his daughter's name in the family listing, and settled back, sighing heavily. _Oh Nina...Gonna miss you, babe. I know we weren't much, but...damn._

"Did you know Mama too?" Emma's voice was soft, frightened, and Clint started, blinking down at the little girl now sitting next to him. He hadn't even realized she was there...

"...Yeah, I knew your Mama. She was a good friend of mine." She played with her bunny, and Clint's eyes softened. "She told me a lot about you, you know." She looked up at him then, and he had to close his eyes for a moment. She looked the image of her mother, even more so now, and he tentatively rested a hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring smile. "This has gotta be hard, sweetheart..."

"I miss Mama..." The sob was soft, half-buried in her bunny, and Clint took out a hankerchief, mopping up her cheeks as he hugged her close.

"Oh baby...I miss her too. I miss her too..."

* * *

"...As you can see, Mister Barton, her grandparents do have first say as to her guardianship..."

"I was reassured that my daughter would be allowed to choose."

"And yet, you haven't even introduced yourself to her, and with all due respect, you have not been a part of her life since her conception." Clint grit his teeth, just a little, and clenched one fist over the arm of the chair. _Self-righteous_ prick_, just because I've been on active fucking duty to keep your bitchy ass safe..._But he kept the retorts behind closed lips and simply smiled faintly.

"Perhaps, but I have been serving the military as an agent for the last several years. Nina knew that, she's been in contact with my commanding officer since my last departure, and we've shared letters, photos, ever since. So, Emma has the right to choose who she goes home with. And I'd like to speak with her, thank you. She means a lot more to me than she does to anyone else here." The man winced at that, something Clint took as a personal score, and sat forward, hands clasped.

"...Perhaps you are right. She's in her room upstairs." Clint took that as his dismissal and slipped out of the office, padding through the elegant brownstone to the upstairs, to a tiny bedroom about half the size of the other children's rooms. The door wasn't locked, but Clint eased it open rather than barging in, glancing at the tiny girl clutching her bunny. She wasn't playing with any toys, not that she had much; her bunny and a small pile of dolls, her blanket and sheets simple, department store grays, one lone photo of her mother and father on the small white dresser. He swallowed, and rested his head on the door itself. This was sparser than his SHIELD barrack. Where were the toys and furniture Jason had made her? Where were the photos and the pictures? Where were the cute overalls and dresses, and all the pretty things that she had...

"Emma?" Her head came up a little, blue eyes shadowed, and Clint came inside, closing the door. "Hey..."

"Hello." Even her voice was hollowed, lost, and he sat down on the floor before her, hiding the wince. She met his eyes for a moment, a faint spark of defiance lost in the grief.

"Emma, um...Do you know who I am?" Her eyes came up again, quiet, appraising.

"You're my papa." He had to smile at that, and he reached out to touch her bunny's nose.

"I am. I...sent you that, on the day you were born. Your mama sent me pictures, letters..."

"She told me about you. About how you protected us from really bad guys...really, really bad guys. Like the aliens in New York." He grinned, nodding, and bopped her nose now. She giggled, faint, but there.

"She was always right, sweetheart." He touched her cheek now, solemn. "I wanted to introduce myself at last, and...I wanted to give you a choice. The law will let me take you back to New York...or, you can stay with your grandparents. Normally, there isn't much of a choice, but...I insisted that you be given one." She blinked, hugging the bunny tighter, looking nervous now, and he hastened to reassure her. "If you want to stay, honey, that's..."

"I wanna go with you." It was his turn to look surprised, and she slid off the bed, right into his lap, hugging him tightly. "They hurt me..." He closed his eyes, hugging her back, and sighed.

"I heard that...I won't hurt you, sweetheart. Not ever."

"I know...Mama always said to trust papa...always." Clint had to smile at that, and he kissed her forehead, snuggling her close.

"She definitely knew best...Where are your things, babe?" She snuggled closer, and sniffled.

"Grandmother sold them already..." He sighed.

"Of course she did. Alright, in that case, we're gonna go shopping when we get home. With Captain America. And Thor." Two little hands pushed away from his chest, and her eyes were wide.

"You know Captain America?!" He grinned.

"I fight alongside him. And yes, he's just as much a nice guy as he is on the news. I fight with him, the Hulk, Thor, Iron Man, and the Black Widow. We all live in Iron Man's Tower." Her eyes managed to go wider, and he kissed her cheek, rocking her. "Emma...are you sure you want to go with me?" Her firm nod made him grin, but the lip wibble made that swift smile disappear.

"...Just...can I take Mama's photos? Mr. Emmett has them downstairs..."

"Absolutely. I'm entitled to certain things anyway; Mr. Emmett can be a nice guy for a change." He got up with a little difficulty, still holding her, and eased her onto one hip. "Alright...ready to blow this popsicle stand?" She giggled softly, and he kissed her again, bouncing her a little.

"Ready, Papa!"

**DaddyClint fic. There needs to be more of them. Because our beloved, adorable archer would make such a good papa.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel, I just play in their sandbox.**

**A/N: There are triggery elements, dealing with severe child abuse and PTSD, as well as canon violence.**

**Baby, The Stars Shine Bright**

Packing up the lone box of things and setting it in the trunk, however, was the saddest thing Clint had ever done in a long lifetime of sad things. He claimed the battered booster seat from her stone-faced grandparents and strapped her in, making sure that her bunny was right where it needed to be. She was quiet in her little denim jumper and soft shoes, hair up in cute pigtails. She'd spent the last night in his motel room, curled up on the second bed while he watched, cleaning his bow and standing guard through the night. He could sleep later; for now, he helped her find clothes that fit her, shoes that weren't too tight, and an actual bath, rather than the half-showers she'd had to take before.

That first night was pretty damned rough for both of them.

Clint had pulled the battered little photo album out of his suitcase once he'd gotten her back to his motel, and sat on the bed with the TV on the news, telling her about the circus all those long years before. He showed her the grainy, crappy photos he'd managed to take with an old Kodak instant of Nina atop her beloved gelding, and smoothed back Emma's hair when she asked about the stunts she would perform, and with a soft smile, he got up from the bed, reenacting all the ones he could remember. He tossed himself in somersaults all around the room, grinning at her giggles and loving the way her eyes lit up.

Bathtime had been...interesting. He'd kept his eyes averted as he helped her get undressed, and laughed when she'd splashed him in retaliation. There were a few scars...a few things he knew he'd need to ask about later, but for now... He'd washed her hair out carefully, rebraiding it in a single french braid down her back, and gotten her into the fluffy pajamas he'd picked up a few hours before, then tucked her into bed. Lullabies weren't ever something he'd been used to as a child, but he knew a few, a few he'd sung to Natasha years ago. And so he hummed and sang and made up pretty words to soothe his Emma, and before too long, she was fast asleep...and he was at peace for a little longer.

The second day, they spent at the lawyer's office as Clint signed document after document to regain custody of his daughter, and dealing with the outcome of Nina's will. He'd kept Emma close; Nina's older brother and parents sat on the other side of the room, and the glares were positively glacial. Thankfully, that little girl had a hell of a sense of preservation; she only called his attention once, and that was to ask for him to escort her to the bathroom. He waited outside the door for her, texting Phil all the while, and after a few more hours of signing, reading, and being silently cursed into eternity, they retreated to one of the little diners downtown, her legs dangling off the chair, much to his amusement.

"Papa?" He glanced over his menu over at where she was coloring on the children's menu; Bunny was right next to her, and a purple crayon in her hand, her eyes on his.

"Yeah, baby?"

"...Grandmother was really mad."

"...Your grandmother didn't deserve you, sweetheart. None of them did. And...I'm sorry you went through that." Her eyes ducked, and he laid his menu down, taking both her hands. "I mean it. I...read about what was done."

"Mama couldn't say anything; no one believed her." He winced, slightly, and held her hands a little tighter.

"...I know how that goes, honey. And someday I'll tell you...but right now, I want you to be happy. Okay?" Her shy smile made him react in kind, and he leaned down to kiss the backs of her hands, eyes crinkling. "I promise."

"Okay, Papa...can I have the mac 'n cheese?"

"Of course..."

* * *

They were homebound as soon as dawn broke; Clint had no desire to keep her here any longer. A stop at the lawyer's office to pick up the last set of papers, a quick run by the gas station, and they were high-tailing it out of town, heading straight back to New York...and to the Avengers. Phil called about halfway through the trip, and Clint put him on speakerphone, smiling as Emma started in immediately with the questions.

"Mr. Phil, are you Papa's boss?"

"Something like that, sweeting. Are you excited?"

"Yes! Papa told me about Captain America and Iron Man and the Hulk! And Thor and Black Widow and all the agents!" Clint could almost feel the grin on Phil's face, and it made him feel pretty damned happy too. It wasn't often that the older man allowed even a hint of his amusement to show, but with children...well, everyone had a little weak spot.

"That's excellent, darling...We'll have a whole room laid out for you, alright? Tony already has a whole lot of toys picked out for you." She squeaked a little, eyes going wide again, as they had so many times now, and Clint chuckled, setting the cruise back to sixty-five to avoid the crazier drivers.

"Lots of toys?!"

"Lots of toys, dearheart. We want you to be happy here...it's been a long time since most of us have been near a child, and so, we might be a little odd...but we want the best for you." Ah, she was blushing, and he grinned, chuckling all the while.

"Alright, Phil, I'm gonna let you go, okay? We'll be in town in about an hour..."

"I'll be waiting for you. Director Fury has tabled your other work for the time being; nothing's time intensive and you'll need to take care of all the other legal matters before we can let you back onto the field."

"Fair enough. I take it we have a welcoming committee?"

"Myself, Stark, and Captain Rogers. And Dummy." Clint just laughed.

"Bye, Coulson."

"Good-bye, Barton." He turned off his smartphone and glanced back in his rearview mirror, eyes dancing at her glowing smile. Emma's face was transfigured when she was happy, becoming her mother's daughter in one turn of the glass. That was a look he cherished, and he turned his eyes back to the road, feeling warm inside.

* * *

New York City, New York. They hit the streets just before lunch, and with all the skill of a Brooklyn cabbie, he slipped into the underground parking complex of Stark Tower, easing out of the sedan with a crack of his neck and a groan.

"Hey, Barton." He grinned at Tony's familiar welcome and turned to pull open the back passenger door, slipping the buckles off of a sleepy little girl and scooping her up, wrapping the worn little blanket around her limp form. Tony only raised an eyebrow and moved forward, helping Cap get the luggage out of the trunk while giving Clint the once over. "You look like shit."

"No language, Stark." He blinked.

"You're serious."

"Very."

"You swear more than I do!"

"And I'm amending that. So knock it off...she's had a rough week so far." It was Steve who nodded now, and he carried Clint's shoulder bag with ease.

"How is she holding up?" He took a deep breath, heading to the elevator, where Phil and Dummy were clearly arguing over paperwork, and gave the soldier a sigh.

"...Not that great, despite all outward appearances. She's lost her mom, her dad, and her grandparents just want to farm her out for her inheritance." Steve winced at that, and Clint only shrugged with his free shoulder, careful not to dislodge his daughter. "She's heartbroken and lonely and for all her excitement, she cried most of last night, though she tried to hide it from me. And she's still a baby, and she has to deal with all this...I'm going to court sometime in the next month to finalize the custody agreements. Otherwise, her grandmother and grandfather get her, and I'll break SHIELD regs and disappear the two of them before I let that happen." Steve looked startled, and Clint stopped halfway across the garage, eyes dangerous.

"I mean it."

"I'll help." Coulson's voice was just as calm and cool as normal, but the edge was there, and Clint's lips kicked up on the side. "I've got her bed ready and put together."

"Thanks, she's been out for about an hour, and maybe another one or so before she needs to wake up. Coulson, can you...?"

"Already done. Get her to bed, we'll get the things into your apartment." Clint chuckled softly and slipped into the elevator, Dummy waving tentatively behind them as Phil, Steve, and Tony followed. The trip up was blissfully quiet; not for the first time, the archer was thankful that Jarvis tended to be the silent, watchful type, and Tony was too busy analyzing everything, while Steve and Phil were too respectful to interrupt his little girl's nap. So when they disembarked on his floor, Phil had the door open and ready and Clint just ghosted in, one hand coming up to cup the back of Emma's head as he made a beeline to her new bedroom and swung her down, only a little unpracticed. Tucking her under the covers, Clint made sure that her nightlight was on, and Bunny was close, and pressed a kiss to her forehead, kneeling next to her small bed.

"...You know, baby, I never, ever thought you'd come into my life...I always thought it'd be your mom who'd have the talk with Coulson, the grieving...the pain. So, I'm probably gonna screw up, but...I love you. I've loved you from the moment I first saw you in that black and white photo, still in your mama's belly, and I didn't give you up because I wanted to...I gave you up because I wanted you to have the best life in the world. And...maybe that was a mistake." He rubbed watery eyes with the heel of one hand, throat suddenly tight. "...I'm so sorry, Emma. But I promise...I promise, this will never happen again. On my life, I swear it." He kissed her again, stroking shaky fingers over her braids, and slipped out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Out in the living room, Tony was nowhere to be seen, and Coulson was just leaving, tossing a wave in Clint's direction as he stepped out. Clint replied in kind, and stepped into the kitchen to survey what he had available. Steve followed him, big hands holding a small mug as delicately as any teacup.

"Still fast asleep?" Clint smiled as he started pulling down the fixings for burgers and hotdogs, figuring that they'd take long enough and could sit warm without too much of a problem.

"She's out cold still. Bruce coming down to peek in at her?"

"Probably in a few hours. He was in the labs when you called."

"...And Natasha?" Steve sighed, one huge hand rubbing his neck, and Clint braced himself.

"...She requested a mission as soon as she found out. She's...not really happy about this."

"Yeah, I knew she was opposed, but..."

"Right now, your daughter is more important."

"...They're both important, but I can't in good conscience leave her alone." Steve nodded, and helped him fold the hamburger patties, both men at ease in the kitchen. "And to be honest, Natasha can and will take care of herself. Em _can't_."

"She's so little for her age..."

"Takes after me. I was a runt." Steve's lips kicked up and Clint flashed him a grin. "We runts gotta stick together, eh, Rogers?" Steve's body shook with silent laughter, and Clint nudged him with his shoulder, chortling.

"Yeah, yeah...we do, don't we? Well, if it makes you feel better, the Director is likely to spoil her rotten. He's already brought in a small fortune in toys and clothes for her." He laughed a little and slapped down his patties, turning to wash his hands.

"I noticed. And she will too when she wakes up. I take it Tony's already set up her college fund?"

"He did that yesterday. He's actually a little excited about all of this, and Pepper and Rhodey are too. To be honest, Natasha's the only one who isn't."

"Yeah...and I do know why, but I can't say. I'll talk to her when she comes back, just me and her, and see if maybe she'll at least talk it out. Because I am not giving up my daughter, team dynamics be damned. I'll move out and work a desk job if I have to." He murmured, drying his hands on the towel. Steve's reply was simple, and more than a little surprising.

"I know, Clint. That's why I'll intercede if I must. I want us to stay a team, but at the same time, I'm not going to let an innocent child be left on her own, especially to abusive family. Do you need witnesses in court?" Clint nodded, his face going serious. That would be the hardest part; they'd be bringing lawyers and character witnesses, and Clint...well, Clint had Roz in legal and Phil Coulson. And the abuse allegations; he'd debated for a long, long moment last night as to whether he wanted to bring them to light. He'd gone with a 'yes', because in the end, his daughter was not going to suffer the same way he had. And Clint refused to let those cowards hide behind their money any longer.

"That'd be appreciated, Cap. We're going to use the abuse reports in our favor..."

"Good. Because if I'd have been in your position when I'd found out, I would have put a shield through someone's head." The sharpness in his voice made Clint sigh, and Steve hunched his shoulders a little, blue eyes a little darker than normal. "I mean it..."

"Mmm, but I pride myself in my ability to make revenge an absolute _bitch_. And this...this will destroy their reputation, and so much more. And she'll be safe."

"And she'll have a family." Clint glanced up at the super soldier, eyes softening at the lost look in the older man's eyes.

"She will. Okay with being Uncle Steve?" The smile he got in return was almost blinding, and Clint stifled his laughter. "Alright, Uncle Steve, you're in charge of the hot dogs, I'm going to go hunt down buns in the main kitchen." As he headed out to the elevator, Steve caught his elbow.

"You're a good man, Clint Barton." He paused, searching his eyes for a long moment.

"...Not yet, Rogers. But I will be. I will be."

* * *

"You sure that's the mark?"

"Were I not sure, you would not be here, my dear mortal. Have you any qualms as to your _job?_"

"...No."

"Good. I will expect you in three days, upon my prior arrangement. For now, surveillance is what I desire."

"Fine, see ya..." One pale hand closed over the other man's elbow, and glowing green eyes bore into sullen blue.

"Do not disappoint me. I have spent far too long imprisoned to allow you to squander my chances. You will do this, and you will be paid handsomely." The burly man snorted, roughly, and shook the god off.

"Whatever."

"Three days, Barton. Three days." As the other archer stalked off, Loki's eyes narrowed, dangerous, and he summoned a small globe, staring into it with an unnatural intensity at the man puttering around his kitchen, laughing silently at the little girl kicking her feet against her chair. She was too obviously his child, and Loki swallowed the bitter rise of annoyance, curious as to how the younger Barton had kept her so hidden, even from Loki's connection to him. That was not something he was used to, and Loki did not do well with things he wasn't used to. But with the elder brother watching, and his own magic, he might be able to find a way...he smiled, faintly, and opened a slim doorway into the darkness between worlds. "You will be mine, Clinton. Mine, once and forever more..."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel, but all OC's are mine. I also don't own the lolita brand from which I took the name of the story from.**

**A/N: Foul language ahoy here, and discussion of abuse. But cookies and kid movies make things better, and little girls throw the best tea parties.**

"Papa."

"Mmph."

"Papa. Papa, Papa."

"G'on back t'sleep."

"Papa, you gotta get up."

"Mmmmmnnnnnngn. Sleep..."

"Papa, Mr. Phil says he'll use a tay-zer." Clint groaned and rolled over, hair standing up in all directions and eyes hazy as he tried to summon a glare at his daughter. It failed miserably. With a jaw-cracking yawn, he stretched and popped his shoulders, groaning faintly as stiff muscles shifted and pulled, though a faint smile touched his lips as Emma burrowed herself against his side again, eyes still drooping.

"I thought we had to get up?" She yawned widely and shrugged, nestled against his heart.

"You haveta, I don't." He snorted softly but picked her up anyway, scratching at his back with one free hand as he hefted himself out of the bed, sweats hanging low on his hips and his tank all askew. Nearly a full week had passed since she'd come to live in the Tower, and to his knowledge, nothing had blown up. Barring Tony's current tiff with Reed Richards, of course, but then, no one counted those anymore unless they actually did damage to something other than the workshop or the Baxter building. And Tony had gotten a lecture from Rhodey, Cap, and Bruce about that, and about how they'd be the ones to tell Pepper.

And Tony feared Pepper like no one else. So, he turned his mind to more pleasant topics, like his paperwork and breakfast, and wondered vaguely if his field duty roster was being filled yet. Probably; Coulson had a talent for pushing through promotions, and with Clint being shifted to a senior agent position, his former roster was likely already filled up with the juniors he'd been working with. And with senior agent status came another position; handler. He didn't know if he was ready for that just yet, but...he kinda liked the idea. He still got to travel, still got to do his job...and Emma snuggled closer, reminding him the other reason why he'd taken the position.

"Baby, I don't think that's how it works..."

"It does today." Clint sighed as he entered the living room, Phil seated with a steely-eyed attorney and sipping his coffee, and with a groan, he set his protesting daughter onto the couch.

"Yeah, yeah...Roz, you hungry? I gotta feed Emma before we go." Those sharp eyes softened, just a hair, and she dipped her chin faintly.

"A bagel, please. Toasted, with light cream cheese." He chuckled and popped it in the toaster, mixing up a bit of oatmeal with strawberries for Em and a glass of milk, and taking it out to her as he flipped through Tony's digital library.

"How does Looney Tunes sound, babe?" She nodded, still partly asleep, and he handed her her oatmeal and milk, setting Bunny to the side for the moment and turning the volume down. After passing over the freshly made bagel, he made up a huge bowl of Cheerios and took the whole carton of milk over to the couch, really not caring if he got glares for drinking straight from it.

"Ready for this, Barton?" He shrugged a little, munching thoughtfully, and took a swig.

"That depends, Coulson. Are they going to blindside us with anything?"

"They've already used up the inheritance spiel, so probably not. And we have plenty of information to showcase." Clint sighed a little, and gave Phil an appraising look.

"Do they know about my history?" Coulson's eyes were calm, perfectly zen, and he relaxed a hair. "Good. I really do not need to dive into that too right now."

"We wouldn't allow it even if they tried. The character in question here is not yours, but theirs; the judge will rule as to final custody based on who will be able to care for Miss Sloane the best, rather than who has the most money and the better parties." Roz's disdain and faint sniff made both men smile, and she nodded to Emma. "She has spent one week in the company of her father, and in that week's time, she has regained her lost weight, and much of her spirit. That is no small thing, Agent Barton; she is healthy, happy, and clearly comfortable. Were I to rule, you would be her sole guardian." He blinked, and blushed, just a little; that was more outside a courtroom than he'd ever heard her speak, and it was a little nerve-wracking.

"I don't want to ever see her hurt or hungry or miserable..."

"And you won't, Clint." That was Phil again, and Clint tossed the older man a faint smile, one arm sliding to tuck his daughter closer. "Besides, you have Steven Rogers to vouch for you; there are not many who would try and claim that Captain America, the guy who rescues kittens and _enjoys it_, is wrong about your character and honor." Clint had to laugh at that, enough that he nearly snorted his milk, and got a sharp little elbow in the side for disturbing Em's breakfast.

"Papa!"

"Sorry, baby, sorry..."

* * *

Steve sighed, pacing a little in his new suit, and Clint just covered his smile, waist coat unbuttoned and shirt untucked.

"Relax, Rogers."

"How are you not nervous about this?" He demanded, blue eyes nervous, and Clint cocked his head to look up at him, thinking.

"For me, it's something like a mission; know your objectives, follow through the plan, and get the fuck out of here. I'll break down later, I know I will, but right now? I'm as cool as a cucumber, because there's no point in getting worked up. Nerves mean you have something to hide; we don't, do we?" He kept his voice at a soothing rasp, half an octave lower than usual, and Steve reacted just as he knew he would; the shoulders straightened back up, he tugged his jacket back into place, and the frown lines faded into a mask of pleasant civility. "See?"

"...it does work. Huh. Thanks, Clint."

"Anytime, Cap. Now, what was the color of the kitten you rescued two weeks ago?"

"Black." Steve's eyes unfocused, and he fixed Clint with a faint glare. "You're distracting me."

"You're quicker than Tony. And yes, I am. And I'm also trying to figure out ways to explain to a five-year-old that a feral kitten, no matter how cute, is not a house pet. And that we can't really have one right now anyway." Steve smiled at that, and settled back on his heels, relaxing at last. Critters and kids; worked every time for the super soldier.

"Well, take it gentle and slow, and show her that animals take a lot of work to care for; you can't just leave them alone and expect them to tend to themselves. She's a very smart little girl; she'll understand." He nodded, chuckling lightly, and went ahead and tucked his shirt in, though he left his sleeves rolled up. It was getting way too warm outside for anything more, and Clint refused to be uncomfortable unless he was undercover...and only if it was formal wear. He glanced at the pocket watch Tony had given him for his birthday; it was a gorgeous piece of work, and a worthy testament to the engineer's talents. And it was sturdy enough to go into battle, if he needed to; an adamantium housing with titanium gears and a diamond face. He studied the arrows clicking away, and nodded to Steve.

"Ten minutes."

"Mmhmm. Do you think Emma's going to be okay with Tony?" Clint flashed him a smirk, and chuckled darkly.

"She'll be fine. The real question is, will Tony be okay babysitting?"

* * *

"More tea, Uncle Nick?" The Director of SHIELD was not a man most took lightly...which was why Tony was still eyeing him, dark eyes mistrusting. Em was hosting a tea party; one that Tony, Dummy, You, Butterfingers, and a very much amused Jarvis were more than happy to attend...when Fury had dropped by, clearly looking for the little girl. But rather than drilling her or doing some other spy shit, he'd merely joined them at the coffee table, taking the cup with practiced ease.

"Thank you, Emma. So, Tony, how are you today?" His tone was pleasant, almost teasing, and Tony felt himself bristle, though he swallowed that behind a smirk.

"Fine, fine..."

"Do the robots usually come up here?" Damn, caught him on that one.

"...No, but Emma needed more than just myself for a party, and I couldn't really call on the other Avengers today, so..."

"They're nice. I really like Dummy!" Em's voice was bright, cheery, and Tony's lips quirked up, one hand stroking Dummy's strut while Nick hid a smile behind his tea cup.

"I like him too, kiddo." He murmured, taking a long gulp of his coffee. The last week had been...interesting. Interesting, in that Tony Stark had discovered that he actually didn't mind kids all that much; of course, he had his younger fans, and the crayon and marker drawings he got in his fanmail did tend to warm the cockles of his heart, but all in all, he'd generally assumed that like father, like son.

And then fucking Hawkeye'd gone and had a kid. And instead of being this spoiled little shit that he wanted to punt across half of New York...well...he accepted a refill from the coffee pot with a grin, rather enjoying watching how concentrated she was, wasting not a single drop. It was endearing and sweet, and Tony had immediately said yes when Clint had asked if he'd watch her through the court session; he'd thought at first he might regret it, but now...he settled back and let Emma nestle herself into the crook of his arm as Jarvis pulled up the next movie in the queue. Fury paid them no mind, turning to his tablet to presumably work on paperwork, and Tony pulled his latest plans up, quietly restructuring the plating system for the armor, keeping an eye on everyone out of the corner of his eye. An hour in, he felt a slight dampness on his shirt, and glancing down, he couldn't hide the grin.

Emma was fast asleep, her beloved Bunny clutched tightly in one arm, her middle and ring fingers firmly in her mouth, and Tony set his tablet and coffee cup on the table next to the couch, scooping her up slowly.

"Hey, Nick, can you...?" A soft blanket dropped over his chest, and he gave the Director a faint smile. "Thanks."

"Anytime. Never would have pegged you to be a babysitter..." He bristled again, but it seemed a little useless; there wasn't a real threat in that brown eye, or at least, any more real than usual.

"...Never had the chance." He replied stiffly, leaning back against the pillow and settling himself for naptime. He'd come to an agreement with Cap on naps, and switched off every other day. The warm bundle on his chest shifted, and he waited until she was comfortable before continuing. "Let's be honest here; no one ever would have given me one. Barton was the first."

"...Barton knows who he can trust. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me." Fury replied simply, and stalked off, leaving Tony to stare after him.

"...Jarvis?"

"Volume returning to naptime levels, sir."

"...email that mission report to Fury, please."

"...As you wish."

"Don't start quoting the Princess Bride at me, buddy."

* * *

"Mr. Barton, are you ready to begin?"

"I am."

"Mr. Johnston, Mrs. Johnston?"

"A little more time, your Honor..."

"You've been given an extra day to prepare, and I've had enough of your antics. Mr. Barton may state his case first, that will be your only reprieve." Clint covered his smile with a hand and stood up, setting his notes in order.

"Your Honor." His testimony was short, precise, and as sharply clear as any of his shots; he took no chances, bared his entire history. His father, the orphanage, the circus, his brother, his career...Loki...He was brutally, incredibly honest, to the point where even Steve was watching for a breaking point. He was breathing a little harder, a little more painfully, the memories racing back now.

"...and it has been a year since Loki, your Honor. I have records here from my therapist, my handler, my partner, and my Director, all stating that my actions were never my own...and I've been foremost on helping repair the damages done by the Chitauri. I...I'm not the best parent. I know that. I make mistakes, screw up..." He stood taller though, color returning to his tanned skin, eyes growing brighter. "But I've loved that little girl from the moment I first saw her, in a grainy ultrasound in the doctor's office, shifting and moving and _alive_. I wasn't a part of her life before now not because I didn't want to be...but because I wanted to protect her.

"I'm a soldier, a sniper...an archer, a shadow in the wind. I've been an agent for over ten years, a soldier for fifteen...and before that, I was a circus freak. Bonafide, actual performer. And for a year now, I've been a superhero, just like out of the comics. But...for the last week, I've been a dad, above all else. And I _love _it. Love her. Love every moment of being with her." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before lifting his head, pride, rare but strong, in every line. "And that will not change, your Honor. Will never change. Not for as long as I live."

"He's a murderer!" The flinch was barely there, but it _was_ there; Clint hated himself for it, but he couldn't deny it...hadn't been able since he was about eighteen years old. The old woman's shrill voice filled the room, and Clint swallowed, standing strong. "He's a murderer, a thief! He slaughtered hundreds through that scope, with those arrows! I will not see my granddaughter in his clutches~!" She screamed out, and he fought to keep his composure, sudden flashbacks slamming home like a hawk to roost, the world spinning...And a firm hand closed over his shoulder, stilling the surge of panic.

"He's no more a murderer than I." Steve's voice rang out over the gathering, and he stood, towering above them all, blue eyes sorrowed. "In fact, he's less of one than I; he has killed only those, with his own actions, that have hurt others, and badly. And his deaths are far more humane than mine. He killed clean, fast, merciful. And he has all but given his soul to protect his daughter. He has accepted a position outside of his talents, as mundane as any other man, for her. He has provided for her, loved her, cradled her...and done his damnedest, all these years, to protect her." Steve's eyes turned ice-cold at that, and he turned to the judge. "Your Honor, we have the abuse records from her grandparents, as given to the court last week, as well as the defendants. And she is in far better hands than theirs, now."

The judge adjusted his glasses, reading over the notes for a long, long moment, and Clint felt the beginnings of panic stirring, his flight or fight instinct going absolutely wild, sorrow and pain and very real terror that he was going to lose her, lose the one person in his world, in this world of spies and superheroes, who absolutely could not protect herself..._Oh god, my baby, my baby's going to go to those monsters..._

"I find that I completely agree with Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barton. You are granted full custody." The gavel sounded, startling him back to awareness, and he felt Phil's hand on his elbow, easing him out, Steve's hand on his back, and Roz just ahead of them, opening the doors, helping get him to the car...He blinked, and Phil was sitting back in the car, eyes calm and comforting.

"You're a father, Barton." He gave a faint smile, and it all came crashing down, the pain, the sorrow, the memory...the relief, the joy, the stark happiness. He broke, sobbing softly into his hands as Steve's gentle fingertips rubbed his neck, and Phil's hands clasped his shoulders. Years of walls broke, the floodgates fell through and he was gone, shattering under their gazes. It took most of the drive back to the Tower to calm himself, and even then, he knew, without a doubt, that detours had been taken, that at least two hours had passed, and not all of it had been traffic.

"Thanks, Phil..." He croaked out, eyes swollen and red, the tear tracks still burning down his face. "Steve..."

"Anytime." Steve's smile should have been blinding, but it only soothed him, warmed the chill that had settled in his bones. A drink was pressed into his hand, and he tossed it back with practiced ease, settling back and wiping his eyes.

"Ready to see her?"

"I think so...Thanks. Both of you. I mean it, I..."

"Even if we hadn't met her, Clint, we would have done it. Because you deserve her, and she deserves you. So, let's head upstairs and see if Tony's lost his mind yet." He couldn't help but grin at that, and stepping out of the car felt like stepping into a whole new life, one that had so much more potential...and Clint grinned, wide and boyish and happy. He was home.

* * *

"He's got custody." Those few words were full of resentment, anger, and Loki instinctively shielded himself, eyes narrowed as the elder Barton strode into his tiny sanctum. These underground halls were mostly silent right now, his men either asleep or patrolling, and he usually was free to weave his magics without pause. Or read. His room's walls were filled to the brim with books, the books of mortal men and magic users alike, and he was learning, slowly, but steadily, of the ways of the mortals of Midgard. He had been too flashy, too dangerous before; too like to use, and be used. Not this time...not this.

But for the moment, he was doing neither; he was, instead, playing devil's advocate to a brute of a man. Trickshot was rough, unrefined, a broadsword with a battered edge, while Hawkeye was swift, as fine a blade as any rapier, and it showed in both men's natures. Loki tossed his braid over his shoulder and only nodded, giving neither a yes nor a no to the other. "Well? How does that factor in, Sparkles?"

"...For the moment, it does not. You've done as I asked, and your payment is here;" He placed a hand on the slim briefcase laying on his desk, delicately pushing it towards the other man. "I thank you." It was scooped up and disappeared into the bag on his hip; Loki simply shrugged and turned back to his gazing orb, watching all the world above in its splendor and glory. "If you are interested, however..." The other man paused, considering, and Loki's lips twisted in a thin moue of annoyance at what he was watching. "I know of a spider whose web has been recently torn by changeling winds; we could use her service."

**A/N: Good? Bad? Let me know in reviews! I've got so much of this planned out, but I want to be sure people want to read it!~**


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